


Your Fault

by alittleshitwithfeels



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ( as usual with albrecht's story ), Body Horror, Gen, References to Illness, Self-Harm, references to pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleshitwithfeels/pseuds/alittleshitwithfeels
Summary: If the cold autumn air of the crypt had not already done so, Albrecht’s piercing shriek would have frozen the blood in Fanshawe’s veins.---In depth exploration of Albrecht's death and Fanshawe's feelings juxtaposed with vignettes where things were fine, happy, and normal.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Your Fault

If the cold autumn air of the crypt had not already done so, Albrecht’s piercing shriek would have frozen the blood in Fanshawe’s veins. He didn’t think as he ran, exhausted feet barely keeping hold of the stone steps, adrenaline only just able to keep the tension in his body well enough to fend off any attackers should there be bandits at the top of these steps.

But there was no one – only Albrecht’s still and sprawled body.

_Still._

Once more, Fanshawe acted without thought, only ingrained instinct. His knees protested as he dropped onto the stone beside Albrecht and clamped his mouth over Albrecht’s. He heaved breath after breath, one hand fumbling for a pulse. Something moved against his fingers beneath the flesh, but it was not the thump of a heartbeat and any intrigue or distant familiarity toward that odd movement was swallowed as his heart shattered in his chest. 

He pulled back and stared at Albrecht – _Albrecht’s corpse, you mean; you couldn’t save him. How could you not save him? And you call yourself a doctor?_ Fanshawe set his jaw and scooped his friend’s body into his arms. Albrecht felt so small, so _fragile_ , like a sharp wind might shatter him utterly. 

_“Mein Bärchen, would you do me a favor and carry me?” Albrecht’s weight against Fanshawe’s side was heavy and insistent. Had Fanshawe been sober the scent of wine wafting up with each of his friend’s breaths would’ve been choking. As it was, he snorted, lightly shoving Albrecht to the side (only to reach out and grab him again as the man listed dangerously close to outright falling over)._

_“I did not go to medical school for you to call me your little bear, von Closen.” He couldn’t maintain the faux scolding too long, though, not with his head pleasantly fuzzy. “You don’t have to accept every drink Jonah hands you, you know.”_

_Albrecht guffawed. “But I’m in London so rarely! You cannot begrudge me a little fun.” He poked Fanshawe’s stomach. “You’re too up-tight.”_

_“And how else am I supposed to keep Jonah and you out of trouble when he traipses off to a party that he was not invited to with you in tow?”_

_“I recall you almost challenging someone to a duel because they, and I quote, ‘looked at you in a rude manner’?”_

_Fanshawe shook his head. “The wine is clouding your memory.” As if to keep from further argument, he suddenly swept Albrecht up and tossed him over his shoulder, taking only a moment to adjust to the dense weight._

_“Ach, Fanshawe! Careful, or I will vomit on you.”_

_“If you ruin my coat, you will pay for the replacement.”_

Fanshawe hauled his own tired, aching body back through the dense forest, Albrecht’s gradually stiffening corpse in tow. Albrecht had been barely a ghost of his former self before, but even bones alone have significant weight and Fanshawe felt himself stumble and struggle through the brush. Sweat had soaked through his shirt hours ago and made the winds particularly biting. Every step, he hoped to feel Albrecht stir as if the jostling might have started his heart once more. _Foolish thoughts of an idiot. You knew something was wrong with those books. The pages were blank and too fresh-looking to have originated from a crypt. Rebinding would not change the pages. How could you not say something sooner?_

He bit his lip, tasted the metallic tang of blood. A wolf howled in the distance and Fanshawe found himself daring it to come close. Let something challenge his escape, he found himself asking, he needed somewhere else to put this rage tinted grief. But the way was clear of challenge and he stumbled up to the coach parked just at the edge of the forest. 

Ever so delicately, Fanshawe eased Albrecht’s corpse onto the seat and climbed up behind the horses. As he sat, every ounce of fatigue hit him at once, but he wasted no time getting them away from the accursed forest. 

_The coach rumbled over the cobblestones._

_“Thank you so much for coming, Fanshawe. I… I don’t know what we’d do without you.”_

_Fanshawe shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet, Albrecht; I genuinely don’t know how much I will be able to help. I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then find them dashed.” Even as he warned Albrecht of setting expectations too high, he could feel himself hinging more and more of his own sense of worth into this working out._

_“Nonsense, Fanshawe, you’re the greatest doctor I’ve met, and I know that with your help Carla will be with child soon.”_

_Fanshawe peered at Albrecht with a quirked brow. “Don’t imply I won’t be looking at you too, my friend.”_

_“Oh, I- I thought….”_

_“Come now, Leeuwenhoek was 17 th century and if you believe that you are not involved in child making then I will diagnose the problem right here.”_

_Albrecht nodded sheepishly, then perked. “Oh, but we can save business talk for when we arrive. Did Jonah ever tell you about my trip to Schwarzwald?”_

Fanshawe pulled up to Wilhelm’s estate; it had been the easiest staging ground for this damnable task. He had worried how Wilhelm would take his uncle’s condition, but he was clear-headed and understanding in ways Fanshawe deeply respected. Unfortunately, as the coach drew close, shame twisted deeper in his gut, inflaming the rage there.

How dare he come back here when he let the young man’s uncle die? How dare he show his face?

Wilhelm was quick to rush from the house. “How did it -?”

Fanshawe cut him off with a shake of his head. “Your uncle… he may have suffered a heart attack; I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry.”

Wilhelm blinked. “Oh. I….”

“I have to get to Schramburg and I’ll handle the death certificate, but you should draft a letter to Albrecht’s home estate.”

Wilhelm stiffly nodded and Fanshawe carried on, suddenly realizing that he was holding the reins tight enough for them to bite into the meat of his hands.

_“Dr. Fanshawe, please stay. I implore you.” Carla smiled, reaching for Fanshawe with one hand while the other cradled her stomach. Albrecht was beside her, hand on top of hers._

_“Yes, I think we would both feel safer having you here; I would trust no other doctor with this.”_

_Fanshawe frowned. “I cannot be absent from my practice for just under a year!”_

_“I will pay for any loss and more! Please, Fanshawe, you performed nothing short of a miracle after we’ve tried so long, I cannot put this child’s life in anyone else’s hands!”_

_He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But I will be aiding other doctors in the area at the same time; I cannot justify helping only you for such a long period.”_

_Albrecht beamed._

“You say you don’t know what killed him?”

“Not currently, but I’d like to have permission to perform the autopsy. Please, he was a dear friend of mine. I arrived too late to save him; the least I could do to honor him is find out how he died.”

“No one else will be in for a few days, so I’ll grant you permission.”

_He scrubbed his hands, careful to clean every crevice, despite Carla’s pained gasps and Albrecht’s pacing._

He scrubbed his hands, careful to clean every crevice, despite the anxiety in his gut and feeling of something waiting and **watching**.

_His hands were slick with oil. “I’m helping some of the muscles relax, but you have to work with me. Just breathe, Carla, you’re safe.”_

His hands were dry. “Just breathe.” He slid the scalpel down.

_“Oh, he’s looking very healthy, Frau von Closen, you should be very proud.”_

Irises of every hue swiveled from their positions lining every single organ in Albrecht’s body to stare, unblinking, into Fanshawe’s own eyes. Their pupils constricted in the light. His stomach twisted and he was glad he had not eaten recently. 

Then, in a flurry, he shoddily stitched the corpse back up, ignoring how the eyes continued to stare until the skin closed over them. Even with the skin closed, he could feel their piercing stare, feel them following his movement. He snapped for the attendant and demanded the body be burned immediately, citing that it had been infected and could be disposed of no other way.

_He washed his hands, careful to clean every crevice as Albrecht and Carla cooed over their newborn._

He washed his hands until they were red and chapped, teeth grit hard enough for his jaw to hurt. He slammed a freshly cleaned fist into the wall, the force and stonework immediately splitting his knuckles. He put his hands back under the water.

_“Fanshawe, I am very glad to have caught up with you. I just received word that Albrecht has taken ill; may I ask you to go check on his condition? I trust no other doctor more than you.”_

_“If his condition is so dire, he would be better off with a doctor already in the area; I fear I may arrive too late to be of any help.”_

_Jonah smiled; green eyes locked on his. “Nonsense, you’re the best doctor for the job.”_


End file.
